though our straw soles shred on the hardened lava.
I want to travel with you to every sacred mountain
smoking within like the sibyl stooped over her tripod,
I want to reach for your hand as we scale the path,
To feel your arteries glowing in my clasp,
Never failing to note the small, jewel-like flower
unfamiliar to us, nameless till we rename her,
that clings to the slowly altering rock –
that detail outside ourselves that brings us to ourselves,
was here before us, knew we would come, and sees beyond us.
Robert Pack – 1978